


Making His Way Home

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his last term as Minister for Magic, Kingsley goes in search of something he lost when he took office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making His Way Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angela_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angela_snape).



> Written in September 2009.
> 
>  **Beta** : eeyore9990
> 
>  **A/N** : This is a very belated birthday gift for the very patient Angela, who asked for Kingsley/Charlie with a prompt of "If you could only see...".

Kingsley's bare head shone in the Romanian sun. His gold earring glittered. The way his big hands moved as he talked sent a shiver of memory across Charlie's skin.

A familiar ache expanded through Charlie's chest as he stood in the shade next to a dragon pen. It was just a war-time thing, he reminded himself. No commitment, no demands, merely a way for two like-minded men to find some peace in the middle of insanity. And definitely not something that could be continued after Kingsley became Minister for Magic.

Because Ministers most emphatically did not have things with dragon keepers, especially male dragon keepers, as he'd been told and better told. Ministers could have marriages or bondings, possibly even relationships, but definitely not _things_.

 _But he's not Minister Shacklebolt any longer_ , insisted Charlie's annoying inner voice — the one that sounded like Fred and George in chorus.

"Bugger off," Charlie told them, slipping deeper into the shadows when Kingsley's attention started to turn in his direction.

~*~

"As you observe, pens are in need of repairing. Most direly those for sick dragons," Manager Banciu gestured at a charred remnant of wall.

"Do you have many sick dragons?" Kingsley asked, suppressing a wince when Banciu spouted another batch of barely comprehensible statistics. He'd already composed his report to the International Union of Ministries, approving the additional funding, but Kingsley wasn't about to tell Banciu that. He was still hoping to see Charlie.

A shift in the shadows to his left caught Kingsley's attention, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this trip wouldn't be a lost cause after all.

~*~

"Is not option. All must attend, excepting those on duty." Arms crossed over his chest, Banciu glared up at Charlie. "You are only English here. You will not be on duty."

"Aurel—"

"No. No more arguing. Reserve needs money. _Dragons_ need money."

Squeezing the tight muscles at the back of his neck, Charlie shook his head. "Fine. I'll be there."

"And you will talk?"

"And I'll talk to him," Charlie agreed.

"Good." Banciu clapped Charlie on the shoulder. "He is fine man, this Shacklebolt. You see."

Remembering the feel of Kingsley's skin against his own, Charlie hoped that seeing would be enough.

~*~

Kingsley had dressed carefully for the dinner. No robes. Banciu's assistant had already warned him that they didn't stand on formality at the reserve. Not that Kingsley had had any intention of wearing them. He wanted to evoke the _right_ kind of memories in Charlie.

And so he walked into the dining room wearing snug black jeans, a white shirt that laced over his chest and revealed just a peek at his curly black chest hair, a black leather waistcoat left unbuttoned, and the silver dragon torc that Charlie had given him all those years ago. It was a little plainer than his usual choice of attire but more noticeable for that, Kingsley hoped.

The heat that flashed through Charlie's eyes before he turned away told Kingsley that he'd succeeded, as did the way Charlie bit the inside of his mouth when he realised that Banciu had placed them next to each other for dinner.

Sometimes, Kingsley thought, a little manipulation and the offer of additional funding went a long way.

~*~

Charlie leant against a wall in the dining room, arm crossed over his chest and a glass of icicle vodka in his hand. He hadn't moved since Kingsley walked into the room. He couldn't take his eyes off Kingsley, watching him mingle and admiring the way he charmed dragon keepers and politicians alike. Admiring the denim and leather, the laces and that oh-so-familiar torc.

For a brief moment, the crowds parted in just the right way, and Charlie found himself looking into Kingsley's eyes. Lust made Charlie's cock twitch and start to fill, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling Kingsley's name.

 _He still wants me_.

 _I still want him_.

~*~

"Charlie is our English. You talk, yes?" Banciu ushered Kingsley into a seat between Charlie and himself.

"We've met," Kingsley said, sitting down and then holding out his hand, unable to prevent the smile that spread across his face.

"Same side in the war." Charlie smiled back, somehow turning a simple handshake into an erotic slide of thumb against palm that made Kingsley extremely glad he was sitting down and could hide his erection beneath the tablecloth.

"Good. Good." Banciu nodded, taking his own chair. A tap of his wand against a silver bell caused a bowl of soup to appear before everyone. With a grin and a lift of his spoon towards Kingsley, he said, "We eat, yes?"

"Mum says you're doing well," Charlie said, pressing against Kingsley's side as he reached for the pepper. "Although I thought she said you were taking a year off."

"I am." Kingsley licked a drop of soup that was caught in the corner of his mouth, managing not to smile at the way Charlie's eyes followed the sweep of his tongue.

"This is a holiday?" The twirl of Charlie's spoon in his mouth and the hollowing of his cheeks as he sucked sent an ache of lust through Kingsley.

Clearing his throat, Kingsley lowered his voice and purred, "Business and pleasure, I hope."

Charlie's eyes darkened — with lust, Kingsley hoped. "Oh, I think—"

"Is good, yes," Banciu interrupted. "Soup made from dragon's flowers. No dragons, no soup. You see?"

And, with that, dinner became a torturous affair of multiple courses, statistics about dragons, irrelevant discussions in English and various other languages that his translation charm could barely handle, and teasing touches that had Kingsley fighting the urge to toss Charlie on the table and have his way.

Finally, when the pudding was replaced by strong, dark coffee and a selection of cheeses and crackers, Kingsley had to know. He murmured in Charlie's ear, "Show me your room?"

~*~

As Charlie closed the door behind him, he was pulled into Kingsley's arms.

"You weren't supposed to leave," Kingsley said.

Charlie tried for a light tone. "And be the Minister's kept boy? I'd rather keep dragons."

"Idiot," Kingsley chided.

"Yeah, whatever. It doesn't matter any longer." Charlie stepped back and did a slow examination of Kingsley, from head to toe, letting his appreciation show. "Does it?"

"It never mattered to me." The husky edge to Kingsley's voice had Charlie's cock hardening, drew him back into Kingsley's arms.

The kiss, when it finally came, was everything Charlie remembered. Full of gentleness and power and, combined with the sensation of being pressed against Kingsley's body, almost enough to make him come in his trousers.

"Clothes," Charlie muttered. "Off."

"And I dressed so carefully, too."

Charlie had missed the feel of Kingsley's laugh. The rumble vibrated through him and went straight to his cock. Who was he kidding, everything Kingsley did was bringing him that much closer to orgasm.

"Naked," Charlie said, then reached for his wand and cast the spell that granted his own wish.

Cupping Kingsley's cock with his hands, revelling in the shudder that went through the other man, Charlie licked his lips and said, "Only for you, you know. No one else ever got inside me."

"You bastard," Kingsley swore and shoved Charlie's hand out of the way so he could squeeze the base of his own cock and stave off the threatening orgasm. He did not want to come quite that soon.

This time Charlie laughed, and kept laughing as Kingsley pushed him backwards, step by step, until he was sprawled out on his bed. Charlie flattened his feet on the bed and spread his legs, showing off his arse. He stroked his cock, and kept his eyes on Kingsley.

"Damn, Charlie. If you could only see yourself," Kingsley said, his voice almost a groan.

Then he climbed onto the bed, and lay down between Charlie's legs. Charlie was under him, their cocks lined up, and Charlie couldn't see anything. All he could do was feel.

~*~

Watching Charlie display himself took Kingsley from half-hard to hard as a rock and leaking in a nano-second. "Damn, Charlie. If only you could see yourself."

Charlie was exactly as Kingsley remembered and yet just different enough to be enticing. Same lack of inhibitions, same odd little insecurities about how he affected Kingsley, same hands. But his body had changed. He had new scars, more muscle, new tattoos. Nipple rings.

Unable to resist any longer, he crawled onto the bed and lay on top of Charlie. To his amazement, his pleasure, their bodies fit together as if they'd never been apart.

And suddenly Kingsley needed to know, needed to _feel_ those similarities and differences.

He started with Charlie's collarbone, bestowing a series of nips and licks on the tattooed dragon's wing that decorated the skin. Charlie groaned, and the dragon tattoo sent a shower of flames across Charlie's stomach.

"Nice tat," Kingsley said. Pointing his tongue, he laved a line down Charlie's chest and licked at the magical heat of the flames. "

"Fuck, Kings, you really want to talk about my tats?" Charlie arched into Kingsley's touch.

"We could talk about these instead." Kingsley turned his attention to Charlie's nipples. He sucked on them, tugged lightly at the rings with his teeth. Smiled around the surgical steel when Charlie's hands moved down his back and gripped at his shoulders.

"Or—" Charlie twisted his hips, grinding his cock into Kingsley's, "—you could shut up already and get on with making up to me for all those years of neglect."

"Or I could do that," Kingsley agreed. Then he slid down between Charlie's legs and licked a stripe up his cock.

"Yeah."

The taste of Charlie's precome made Kingsley's chest ache. "So good," he murmured, although it wasn't that. It was home and love and belonging in a way he hadn't known he missed until he took Charlie's cock into his mouth.

He flattened his tongue, swirled it, traced thick veins and twitching muscle. Wanting, needing to give Charlie everything, he braced his hands on the bed on either side of Charlie's hips and let Charlie buck into his mouth.

"Kings... oh, god, Kings," Charlie whispered, his voice husky and barely audible, as he clutched at the bedcovers, his hands opening and closing in time with the thrusting of his hips.

Rubbing against the bed wasn't enough. Without releasing Charlie's cock, Kingsley straddled one of Charlie's legs. He cupped Charlie's bollocks in one hand and grasped his own cock with his other hand.

Kingsley was lost in the rhythm. Of Charlie's cock moving in and out of his mouth. Of his own tongue swirling, licking, pressing. Of his fingers rolling Charlie's bollocks and tugging on the hairs. Of his hand moving roughly, tugging and twisting his own cock.

So lost that the drawing up of Charlie's bollocks and of his own, the pulse of Charlie's semen across his tongue and down his throat, the spray of his own semen on his hand and Charlie's leg, hip, and stomach, almost took him by surprise.

"God, I've missed you." His chest heaving, Charlie grinned at Kingsley and held out a hand.

They lay for a while, side by side on the bed. Their fingers were intertwined, and their legs touched.

Then Charlie rolled over. "Let's clean up in the morning, yeah? After you fuck me?" He tweaked one of Kingsley's nipples, sending a jolt straight to Kingsley's cock. "Because I've missed this."

"I think I can manage that," Kingsley said, and kissed Charlie.

"You going to stick around?" Charlie asked. "Because I can't just pick up and leave."

"It seems I'm in between jobs at the moment." Kingsley traced a finger along the tattoo on Charlie's arm, smiling when it quivered under his touch. "Perhaps you can help an unemployed ex-Minister determine what he wants to do with the rest of my life?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something to keep you occupied."

Their kiss was promise given and accepted. And when they settled down to sleep, Kingsley spooned up behind Charlie, his arm slung over Charlie's waist.

It was good to be home.

~fin~


End file.
